Evil MC's NTR Harem

"I'm sorry, Steve. I really am… but I don't think I can go back."

Her words hung heavy in the air.

"I'm with D now," she continued, glancing briefly at Ross, whose hand still rested calmly on her thigh.

"And I'm happy with him. I didn't expect this. I didn't plan for it. But it happened, and I won't lie to myself just to make someone else feel better."

She hesitated, her voice gentler now. "Please… don't stay here and torture yourself. Go back. Walk away before you hurt yourself even more."

For a moment, Steve didn't move. He just stood there, frozen, his face unreadable.

Then, slowly, he took a long, deep breath.

His chest rose and fell as he swallowed whatever storm was building inside him.

He gave a single nod.

He didn't say a word.

No curses. No threats. No final plea.

He simply turned around and walked out of the room—his footsteps echoing softly behind him, each one heavier than the last.

And just like that… he was gone.

The room remained silent for a few seconds longer, as if even the walls were processing what had just happened.

Then Ross let out a low, satisfied hum.

"Well," he said with a grin, "that went smoother than I expected."

***

Steve walked out of the house like a ghost. Cameras and reporters swarmed him, bombarding him with questions the moment he stepped outside.

"Steve! What happened in there?"

"Did Heaven really choose Big D?"

"Are you leaving the show for good?"

He barely registered their voices but he answered them as if nothing wrong was happening.

After that, he just kept moving forward, eyes glazed, like he was walking in a trance.

A few shallow, rehearsed responses left his mouth, but he couldn't remember what he said or even who he said it to.

Everything felt distant—like someone else was speaking through him.

He got into his car and drove.

The city lights passed in a blur. Red. Green. Yellow.

He didn't remember stopping at any lights. Didn't remember turning onto his street.

All he knew was one moment he was on the road, and the next… he was home.

He stood in his front hallway for a long time, staring at nothing.

Then the weight of it all came crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head slowly, trying to make sense of the fog in his mind.

"Fuck," he hissed. "What the hell just happened to me?"

The last thing he remembered clearly was standing in front of Heaven, pouring his heart out—fake or not.

He remembered the words, her rejection, the way she looked at Ross, the way Ross touched her like she belonged to him.

He remembered rage—pure, unfiltered rage—boiling in his veins.

He was supposed to lose it. He wanted to lose it.

If Heaven had chosen Ross, then he had sworn to himself he'd stay.

He'd stay and make their lives miserable.

He'd be the ghost in the walls, the unwelcome shadow in their bedroom.

He would crash their private moments especially when they were fucking, taunt them, expose their weaknesses.

He would never let them have peace.

That had been his plan.

He was so sure of it.

So how the hell was he here now?

"I… I didn't leave," Steve whispered to himself. "I wasn't going to leave…"

He stumbled into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as panic began to rise in his chest.

"Did they make me leave? No… nobody touched me. I walked out on my own." His voice was shaking now.

"But why? I didn't want to. I didn't want to!"

He stood up again, pacing, like a caged animal.

His mind raced for answers, for anything that could explain what had happened.

Did Ross do something to him? Did someone hypnotize him? Drug him?

Was this some kind of sick joke orchestrated by the producers?

"No," he growled. "That doesn't make sense. I was in control. I had to be."

But the longer he tried to convince himself, the more uncertain he became.

His thoughts spiraled—memories warping, twisting.

He couldn't even recall walking to his car. Had he blacked out?

Had something else taken over?

He looked at his own reflection in the dark TV screen across the room. His face looked pale.

Hollow. Almost unfamiliar.

"This isn't me," he whispered again. "I don't just… give up."

A long silence filled the room.

And then, slowly, a terrifying thought crept into his mind, one he hadn't dared to consider until now:

What if someone—or something—forced him to leave?

What if Ross had more than charm?

What if Ross wasn't just some lucky guy with good looks and a smug attitude?

What if there was something darker about him—something that could control people?

Steve sat back down, his entire body trembling now. He'd gone in with a plan.

A cruel, deliberate, perfect plan. And instead, he'd walked out like a sheep.

Against his will.

And now, alone in his house, the silence was suffocating.

The more he thought about it, the more the sense of unease grew inside him like a sickness.

He wasn't sure what scared him more—that he had lost control…

Or that someone else had taken it from him.

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, still dazed and confused.

His mind was a chaotic storm of broken thoughts and unanswered questions.

He tried to piece everything together, but nothing made sense.

It was like his memory had gaps—big ones—and the more he tried to think, the more his head throbbed.

He didn't even notice the hulking figure that had silently appeared behind him.

By the time he sensed something was wrong, it was already too late.

"PAK!"

A heavy slap landed on the back of his head—loud, sharp, and powerful.

His vision went white, and then everything faded to black.

***

When Steve woke up, his head was pounding and his limbs refused to move.